


Home Is

by forgetcanon



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, road games, zevran being predictable to get clinquant to smile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-17 23:43:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2327459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgetcanon/pseuds/forgetcanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clinquant Tabris misses home and 100 other short stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Is

  
The road to Orzammar was long and wearying. As they always did when traveling, they played games. Leliana knew dozens, or perhaps she made them up on the fly, adapting them from Orlesian games she'd played.   
  
At some point even bards had to run out of games to play and stories to tell. ("I'm keeping some in reserve," Leliana said primly when Alistair heckled her about it.) So, it came to this.  
  
"Favorite color?" Alistair asked.  
  
"Blue," Leliana said. "No, red. Yes, red. Blood, life, roses. Love. Clink?"  
  
Clinquant frowned. "Favorite color?"  
  
"Yes," Leliana said.  
  
"Need I pick a favorite?" Clink nearly pouted. "I never saw the point of favoring one color over another. They're… colors."  
  
Zevran, who had tuned them out after Alistair snapped at him for trying to make the game dirty, tuned back in. Clinquant was evasive about very few things. She candidly explained to people that she was a Grey Warden because she murdered a human lord. When she avoided answering a question, the answer was bound to be interesting.  
  
"The point is, we're playing a game," Alistair said, in a tone of voice suggesting that Clink was a two-year-old. "So you get to pick a color and say why."  
  
Clink sighed. "Very well. I'm not sure if it has a name, really. It's not black, it's not brown, it's not copper. It's… a balance between all three, really."  
  
Alistair scoffed. "Really? Your favorite color is brown?"  
  
"Were you even listening? It's not brown, that's kind of the point."  
  
"I like it," Leliana said uncertainly. "It's… fitting, in a dreary, Ferelden way."  
  
"Well, we don't have birds that nest in our hair, so we have to make do with what we do have."  
  
"Mud?" Leliana suggested.  
  
"Snow?" Zevran tossed in. "Unfriendly innkeepers? Overcooked vegetables?" Leliana cackled.   
  
Clinquant rolled her eyes. "I'm surrounded by crazy foreigners," she bemoaned. "Who prefer sun and assassins and shady noblewomen to the honest pleasures of a good run in the mud with your dog. Alistair, you're my only solace in this lot."  
  
Alistair laughed. "Oh, really? How about Morrigan?"  
  
From the back of the group, as far from Wynne as she could possibly get while still being close by in case of ambush, Morrigan called, "Keep your dog, give me a nice snake to put in your bedroll. Now that's Ferelden."  
  
"That's the Korcari wilds," Alistair muttered.  
  
Zevran interrupted before Morrigan took the opportunity to turn their light fencing into an all-out brawl. "You never explained why."  
  
Clink glared at him. Zevran beamed back.  
  
"Yes, why do you like not-brown, not-black, not-copper so much?" Alistair asked.  
  
"I think it might be bronze," Leliana said thoughtfully.  
  
"It isn't bronze," Clinquant said, as though she'd said it before. "Though that is closer than anything else, I suppose." She sighed. "I am warning you, the reason why is sappy."  
  
"Sappy? You?" Alistair asked. "Didn't you threaten to kill a man with his own scarf a few days ago?"  
  
Clinquant frowned. "…No? I don't remember this."  
  
"I swear it happened," Alistair said. "Or maybe it was a dream."  
  
"I live for sappy," Leliana cut in. "Clink, please share your sappy story with us."  
  
"Fine. My mother's eyes." Clinquant sighed. "Not brown, not black, not copper. Not bronze. I remember I used to be fascinated by the way there wasn't a word for them. It made her… special. My mother had eyes with a color that had no name. I used to brag about it as a kid."  
  
She chuckled, shaking her head, but she'd gone sad and distant. At camp, when she was sitting with Zevran, this would be when she would turn her face away and whisper, "I miss home, so very much."  
  
"Wow," Alistair said. "That is sappy."  
  
"Yup," Clinquant said. "Zevran, your turn."  
  
"Pink," Zevran said immediately.  
  
"Really?" Alistair scrutinized Zevran as though he'd grown a second head. "Pink? You?"  
  
"Yes," Zevran said. "If I were to lie, I would choose a manlier shade, such as magenta, which is a color I doubt you Fereldens are aware of."   
  
"I know what magenta is-" Alistair began.  
  
"Why pink?" Leliana asked.  
  
"Lips," Zevran said happily. His tone made it clear he was not talking about the lips on a person's face.  
  
Alistair made tired, unsurprised-yet-disgusted sounds. Clinquant punched him in the arm, but she was laughing, which was the goal. 

**Author's Note:**

> Want to learn more about Clinquant? [Here's her character tag](http://thanestittywindow.tumblr.com/tagged/clinquant+tabris/).
> 
> Just a warning: I wrote this at 1:30 AM, on a day where I was running on four hours of sleep.


End file.
